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ODES  AID  HYMNS, 

WRITTEN   AND   DESIGNED    FOR   THE 

Berkshire  Jubilee. 


BY  EZEKEEL  BACON. 

Preliminary  Note. 

The  following  Odes  and  Hymns,  designed  for  the  sacred  and 
secular  services  of  the  BERKSHIRE  JUBILEE,  were  written  pur- 
suant to  the  invitation  of  the  general  Committee  in  the  City  of 
New- York,  having  that  matter  in  charge.  They  are  now  respect- 
fully submitted  in  this  form  by  the  author  to  his  brother  emi- 
gftnts,  as  the  most  desirable  mode  in  which  he  would  wish  to 
offer  his  small  contribution  to  the  services  of  an  occasion  in  which 
his  heart  has  taken  a  deep  interest,  and  are  affectionately  dedi- 
cated to  his  former  fellow-citizens  of  Berkshire  ;  a  community 
with  whom  it  has  been  his  good  fortune  in  other  years,  in  com- 
mon with  his  and  their  revered  ancestors,  to  hold  many  inter- 
esting civil  and  social  relations  ;  and  towards  whom  he  shall 
ever  cherish,  and  takes  pleasure  now  in  expressing  the  most 
heart-felt  gratitude  for  the  many  unmerited  favors  received  at 
their  hand,  in  days  that  are  past. 

Utiea,  N.  Y.  August  15,  1844 


THE  PILGRIM'S  RETURN. 

Hark  !  from  our  "  Father  land"  we  hear 

It's  fond  inviting  voice  ? 
6  Haste  to  your  natal  Jubilee> 

And  with  my  sons  rejoice/*" 

We  come,  we  come,  from  distant  climes, 

With  joy  to  greet  the  day, 
And  in  thy  sacred  temples  here 

Once  more  our  vows  to  pay. 

We  come  from  Maine's  stern  rock-bound  coast, 

From  homes  upon  the  deep, 
From  where  bloom  Vine  and  Orange  groves, 

And  balmy  Zephyrs  sleep. 

Where  e'er  our  wandering  feet  may  roam, 

Where  e'er  our  lot  is  cast, 
To  thee  dear  land  our  hearts  still  turn, 

Our  first-love, — and  our  last. 

For  on  thy  fair  and  fostering  soil 
Our  cradled  limbs  were  rocked ; 

To  thee  our  early  years  were  given, 
Our  ripe  affections  locked. 


8H-BJ5 

And  though  the  bosoms  kind  that  nursed 

Our  infancy  may  rest 
Within  their  "  dark  and  narrow  bed," 

In  clay  cold  vestments  drest ; 

The  temples  where  we  humbly  knelt 
No  more  may  lift  their  spires  ; 

And  in  the  old  paternal  halls 
May  cease  their  wonted  fires  ; 

Yet  long  those  sainted  names  shall  live, 
"  The  memories  of  the  just ;" 

The  holy  Fanes  our  feet  have  trod 
Though  mouldered  long  in  dust. 

Within  these  pleasant  peaceful  vales, 
Temples  more  glorious  rise, 

.As  through  their  hallowed  portals  pasa 
Fresh  PILGRIMS  to  the  skies. 


OUR  "FATHER   LAND." 

•Good  "  Father  Land  !"  thy  landscapes  fair 

Salute  our  wistful  eyes, 
'Compared  with  thine  no  fields  so  green, 

So  bright  no  other  skies  ! 

Land  of  our  youth !  wide  spread  thy  valei 
In  flowery  verdure  drest, 


1118484 


Where  once  we  thought,  life's  journey  done, 
To  lay  us  down  and  rest. 

For  here  enshrined  in  humble  hope 

Beneath  thy  peaceful  soil, 
The  spirits  of  our  Fathers  find 

Repose  from  earth-born  toil. 

Thy  rushing  streams,  expanded  pools, 

The  well-remembered  groves 
Where  nature's  songsters  trilled  their  notes, 

And  maidens  told  their  loves ; 

The  pastures  trod  by  grazing  herds, 

Thy  meadow's  florid  pride  ; 
Thy  harvests  waving  in  the  breeze 

Upon  the  mountain  side  ; 

Thy  swelling  hills,  thy  gentle  rills, 

Each  knoll,  and  brook,  and  tree  ; 
The  greensward  dales  through  which  we  strayed, 

When  "  whistling  o'er  the  lea." 

Here  stood,  where  now  they  stand  no  more, 

The  old  paternal  halls  ; 
The  stranger's  hand  long  since  has  razed 

Their  ancient — time-worn  walls. 

"  Rocked  by  the  storm  of  thousand  years," 
"  OUR  ELM"  still  lifts  its  head, 


Though  on  its  scathed  yet  vigorous  form 
The  lightning's  bolt  hath  sped. 

But  where  the  Patriot  and  the  Sage, 
"  The  Fathers, — where  are  they  T 

The  guides  and  guardians  of  our  youth  ? — - 
The}  all  have  "  passed  away." 

Here  dwelt  the  objects  of  our  love, 

The  hopes  of  better  days, 
Before  our  weary  feet  had  trod 

Life's  devious  thorny  ways. 

Here  rest  the  visions  of  the  past, 

The  friends  of  other  years  ; 
We  scarce  recall  thine  altered  face, 

Seen  through  thick  mists  of  tears. 

Dear  "  Father  Land  !" — that  long  lost  face 

With  joy  once  more  we  view, 
Before  of  life  and  thee  we  take 

Our  long  and  last  adieu ! 


OUR  NATIVE  VALE. 

Dear  native  Vale  !  upon  thy  placid  breast 
We  love  to  gaze,  our  hearts  delight  to  rest, 
As  by  thy  quiet  and  unruffled  side 
The  gentle  Housatonic's  waters  glide. 


We  love  those  peaceful  and  composed  retreats, 
On  which  no  wave  tumultuous  ever  beats, 
But  calm  seclusion  from  the  world's  alarms, 
Protects  thy  borders  'midst  conflicting  storms. 

Yet  no  austere  dark  anchorite  art  thou, 
With  aspect  gloomy,  melancholy  brow  ; 
Here  the  swift  wheel  of  life  moves  ever  round, 
The  stirring  notes  of  industry  resound  ; 

Fast  by  the  embowering  groves,  whose  noontide 

shades, 

With  foliage  green  o'erspread  embosomed  glades ; 
The  toil-worn  laborer  luring  to  repose 
His  weary  limbs,  his  cheerful  task  to  close. 

Thy  leaping  hillocks,  and  thy  lowly  dells 
Where  the  fair  Nymph  Hygeia  ever  dwells, 
Still  as  in  pristine  loveliness  appear, 
As  rising  halos  on  life's  waning  year. 

No  slavish  chain  constrains  the  free-born  mind, 
No  manacles  the  fettered  muscles  bind  ; 
But  free  as  nature's  denizens  man  trills 
His  gladsome  paeans  o'er  his  native  hills. 

Such  be  our  safe  retreat  when  round  the  world, 
By  life's  rude  waves  our  shattered  barques  are 
hurled  ; 


Such  peaceful  port  inviting  to  repose, 
'Midst  sheltering  groves,  near  SHARON'S  DEATHLESS 
ROSE. 


THE  PILGRIM'S  HOPE. 

When  erst  the  chosen  tribes 

Broke  from  the  oppressor's  rod, 

To  Palestine  they  took  their  way, 
Their  guardian — Israel's  GOD. 

Beneath  the  Almighty  arm, 
Upheld  by  heavenly  might, 

His  cloud — their  beacon  in  the  day, 
His  fire — their  guide  by  night. 

On  Jordan's  palmy  banks, 

Genesareth's  fair  shore, 
Their  heritage  from  him  who  blest 

Their  basket  and  their  store. 

So  when  from  bigot  realms 

The  Pilgrim  race  was  driven, 

To  this  fair  land  they  bent  their  course, 
And  trusted  all — to  Heaven. 

And  when  by  stern  decree 

The  Hebrew  race  was  riven, 

Worn  wanderers  o'er  a  homeless  world, 
Deserted  e'en  by  Heaven ; 


Where  e'er  their  lot  is  cast, 

Where  e'er  their  footsteps  roam, 

Jerusalem  is  still  their  joy, 
Their  ever-present  home. 

With  all  of  Israel's  zeal, 

With  all  his  fervent  prayer, 

The  wanderer  from  the  Pilgrim  land 
Rests  his  affections  there. 

There  passed  his  youthful  dreams  ; 

There  broke  his  morning  sun, 
And  there  he  prays  may  set  its  beams, 

When  life's  swift  race  is  run ! 

i 
Long  as  in  Israel's  heart 

Jerusalem  shall  stand,— 
So  long, — in  the  worn  Pilgrim's  breast 

Shall  dwell — his  FATHER-LAND. 


THE  RETURNING  EMIGRANT'S  SAL- 
UTATION. 

TUNE — "  Heber's  Missionary  Hymn.'1 

From  Maine's  bleak  snow  capped  Mountains, 

From  Georgia's  scorching  sand  ; 
From  where  the  King  of  Fountains! 


Breaks  on  the  wasting  strand  ; 
From  many  a  distant  dwelling, 

From  Homes  beyond  the  deep, — 
We  come,  with  full  hearts  swelling, 

Our  Jubilee  to  keep. 

We  come,  our  memories  meeting, 
With  visions  of  the  past  ; 

We  come,  with  rapture  greeting 
Our  first  love  and — our  last. 

In  vain  though  glittering  treasure 
May  tempt  our  feet  to  stray, 

Our  hearts  from  thee  can  never 
i 

By  Gold  be  torn  away. 

What  though  more  balmy  breezes 

May  blow  on  India's  strand, 
That  breeze  our  heart  more  pleases 

Which  fans  our  native  land. 
And  though  more  mighty  fountains 

May  lave  far  richer  shores, 
Still  brighter  from  her  mountains 

Our  HOUSATONIC  pours. 

Here  sleep  our  gentle  Mothers, 
Companions  of  the  blest  ; 

And  here  in  peaceful  slumbers, 
Our  sainted  Fathers  rest. 


10 

Here  passed  our  youthful  dreamings, 
Here  rose  our  morning  sun  ; 

And  here  in  life's  late  gleamings, 
We  would  its  sands  should  run. 

Thrice  welcome  then  ye  Mountains, 
Which  greet  our  wistful  eyes  ! — 

All  hail  ye  healthful  fountains 
Which  in  yon  hillocks  rise  ! — 

Those  fountains  yet  may  perish, 
Those  hills  no  longer  stand, 

The  Pilgrim  still  shall  cherish 

HlS  OWN  LOVED  NATAL  LAND. 


PARTING  JUBILEE  HYMN. 

TUNE—"  Old  Hundred." 

Our  Father's  God  ! — before  thy  throne, 
We  bow  with  reverence  and  adore  ; 

Thy  hand  it  was,  that  led  them  forth, 
And  placed  their  feet  on  this  far  shore. 

Through  seas  of  storm,  their  course  they  laid ; 

O'er  billows  rude  their  barque  was  driven ; 
Their  faith  in  Thee,  they  ne'er  forsook, 

And  ventured  all  for  truth  and  Heaven, 


11 

Thy  Providence,  which  safely  led, 

Through  savage  beasts,  more  savage  mea 

The  wandering  footsteps  of  their  sons, 
Now  brings  them  to  this  HOME  again. 

And  when  in  distant,  future  years, 

As  new  born  generations  rise, 
May  they,  as  with  our  Fathers,  we 

Find  "  BETTEE  HOMES"  BEYOND  THE  SKIES* 


THE  PARTING  HAND. 

TUNE — "  Auld  Lang  Syne? 
Can  brother  Pilgrims  be  forgot, 
And  never  brought  to  mind  ? 
Shall  by-gone  days  not  be  recalled, 
And  years  of  auld  lang  syne  ? 

For  auld  lang  syne  my  friend, 

For  auld  lang  syne, 

We'll  grasp  the  hand  of  friendship  now, 

For  auld  lang  syne. 

We  all  have  trod  life's  toilsome  round, 
And  tried  each  varied  clime  ; 
We've  wandered  many  a  weary  step, 
Sin'  auld  lang  syne. 

For  auld  lang  syne  my  friend,  &c. 


We  too  have  felt  dame  fortune's  freaks, 
(We  hope  she  yet  may  shine  ;) 
While  waters  wide  between  us  rolled, 
Sin'  auld  iang  syne. 

For  auld  lang  syne  my  friend,  &c. 

And  here's  a  parting  hand,  my  friend, 
Give  me  that  hand  of  thine  ; 
We'll  take  once  more  a  hearty  shake, 
For  auld  lang  syne. 

For  auld  lang  syne  my  friend,  &c. 

And  sure  you'll  ken  this  parting  tear, 
As  sure  as  I  will  thine  ; 
So  here's  to  all  a  kind  Farewell, 
For  auld  lang  syne. 

For  auld  lang  syne  my  friend,  &c. 


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